


Who Will Take My Place?

by scarletalphabet



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Team Dynamics, Whoops I Named All the Random OCs After Nationals People, post episode 1x16 End of the Beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletalphabet/pseuds/scarletalphabet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped on a plane bound for the unknown, the team fights back to regain control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Will Take My Place?

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't seen the promo for the next episode, so this is solely based on 1x16. Title is from a great song by The Duhks of the same name, as is the section below. This little episode tag ballooned into a larger story but I wanted to make sure I got it up with enough time before the next episode. Hopefully it's not suffered too much for that.

* * *

_If they shoot me down to shut me down_   
_Who will take my place?_   
_If they bring an army into this town_   
_Who will take my place?_   
_If they rule this land and silence me_   
_When I'm laid out with injury_   
_When my words won't matter anymore_   
_Who will take my place?_

* * *

 

Fitz regained his balance, pulling himself up by a lab table. He took a quick look around to make sure that nothing had been dislodged, but luckily everything was safe and sound. As well as it could be anyhow. Nothing would make this bizarre turn of events more foreboding than to have broken vials of Skye's blood rolling around on the floor. Skye's blood...Jemma. He gulped reflexively as the nascent knot of worry in his stomach about his own situation grew as he remembered Jemma's last words to him. While he hadn't caught everything, it sounded like she had been in the situation room when some sort of situation arose. Normally he would make some sort of joke about that being quite fitting, but now was not the time for word play. He shook his head in an attempt to focus back on the still tense standoff between May, Skye, and Coulson. His eyes flicked back and forth between the level above where he knew Coulson was standing, and May's guarded stance in the bay. Part of him felt that he should be angry that she had been shooting at him, but given that they were just ICERs and that a more pressing danger had arisen, he firmly told that part of himself to fuck off for now.

“I cannot tell you,” May stated, repeating her earlier claim. “But I swear that I have nothing to do with the Clairvoyant.” She nearly spat on the ground in distaste at the prospect. She dropped her arms down by her side, her body language screaming vulnerability, but maintained her steady gaze up at Coulson. “I know that you don't trust me right now Phil, and I don't blame you, but you have got to believe me. You say the Clairvoyant's still out there, and I agree it seemed too easy, but it is not me. After what they've done to us? To Skye? I would die before I'd let anyone take control of me that way, especially the Clairvoyant.”

“I want to believe,” Coulson said. Fitz thought he heard his voice quiver with sadness and yearning. “Dammit Melinda. I want so badly to believe, but what the hell am I supposed to think?”

Fitz cocked his head as he looked closer at May. Her voice was pleading with Coulson, urging him to err on the side of logic, but he'd never seen her look so desperate before. Her body was fixed on Coulson even though she hadn't stepped one foot closer to him after recovering from the jolt of the plane. Fitz had to marvel at the way that May, normally someone in complete control of her own body, was struggling to keep a lid on it. She was not set to attack him, but it was as if by putting all of her physical strength into her words she could somehow manage to convince him. Fitz wasn't an expert in body language or mind control by any means, but she seemed to mean what she said and she didn't seem to be taking orders from any implant or external source. There was the off chance that someone was controlling her to make her seem more openly emotional than usual, but if she was the Clairvoyant's asset, the Clairvoyant was taking an awfully big risk by not terminating her right then and there.

He shook at the thought...terminate. A cold word for a cold act. He took another long look at May, hoping that careful study would reveal something, anything of use. May was not someone most people would call warm, but he knew that she was subject to the same vulnerabilities as everyone else, if not necessarily to the same degree. There were always newbies at the Academy who thought that their hushed whispers about Agent May being a top-secret AI project were clever and unique (until they were forcibly shut up by wiser students), but she was indeed human. Whatever her secret line was for, he didn't think that it was a way to communicate with the Clairvoyant, who didn't seem the type to take phone calls in the first place. Psychic or not, secret phone lines seemed too old-school spy for the Clairvoyant. Fitz's hand scrambled for the portable scanner that he knew was nearby and his other hand reached up to hit the unlock button on the door.

Fitz slowly but deliberately stepped out into the bay. ICERs or regular guns, the last thing he needed was to get hit by a trigger happy fellow agent. He tried to shoot Skye his most convincing 'calm down I've got this' look, but given her puzzled look in return he had likely achieved little more than a wobbly smile. At least she didn't seem poised to shoot him. “Agent Coulson, Agent May,” he stated, turning his back on Skye. “I'm going to bring out a hand scanner, so please do not mistake it for a weapon.” When no one moved to stop him he held the scanner out towards May. As it did its work he continued, making an effort to keep the worry he felt out of his voice. “Sir, I think you should believe her,” he urged Coulson, talking faster and faster as he went on. “I know that I was the one who discovered the line, and she still has to answer for that, but I believe her. Being the Clairvoyant or working for the Clairvoyant just doesn't fit, and frankly we don't have the time to quibble about this, because I don't know if you realize it, but lives are at stake.”

“Yeah, ours,” Skye muttered.

“More than ours,” Fitz shouted, a note of panic breaking through. He took a deep breath to try and regain his composure and spoke again. “Something fishy is going on at the Hub and like it or not, Agent May is still our best hope of getting control of this plane back. I'll be damned if I'm going to leave Jemma behind to get swept up by it and you'd better not count on me to right this ship cause I'm a piss poor pilot.” He finished with a pointed glare at Coulson, throwing caution to the wind in the hope of breaking through to him. It wasn't perfect, but there really wasn't time to come up with a prettier speech. The scanner beeped three times and he broke his gaze to check the readings. “She's clean, as far as I can tell,” he informed Coulson.

Coulson returned Fitz's gaze in equal fashion for a brief moment and then looked away with a nod, re-holstering his gun. “Skye,” he called, gesturing for her to do the same.

Skye looked at May warily and put away her weapon.

Coulson pointed at May. “You have ten minutes to find out what you can about what's going on with the plane and then you are on me like a shadow,” he ordered. “You stray one second past that and I will ask questions later.” The instant he paused May broke and ran up the stairs, narrowly dodging him in her haste to get to the cockpit. He turned to Fitz. “Ten minutes. Get what you think you'll need for diagnostics or tech ops, in or out of the plane, but only what you'll absolutely need. Skye, get Ward and meet at the command center.”

Fitz let out a quiet sigh of relief that his gambit had succeeded. He had never scored particularly highly on any of the leadership tests that S.H.I.E.L.D. had subjected him to, reflecting his hesitance to take charge. He'd often joked to Simmons that if they'd joined Starfleet instead of S.H.I.E.L.D. the closest he'd get to command red is if he had a replicator make an old-style ops uniform. Of course that had spawned an endless debate over which series was the best or what captain was the best. They'd learned long ago that neither was ever going to convince the other and that it was best to just agree to disagree, though the slightest Star Trek reference could re-spark their debate without a moment's notice.

Only once everyone had cleared out did Fitz realize what Coulson had implied. In _or_ out of the plane? He glanced over at the wall of the cargo bay where the parachutes were lined up. Hopefully they'd be able to land the plane first. He ducked back into the lab and pulled out a couple of backpacks. If they were going to have to rely on tricks or stealth then the hard cases and duffel bags were out. It pained him to leave some of his favorite gadgets behind, but he forced himself to focus on the goal. Right the plane, make sure Jemma was safe, then figure out what the hell was going on. He piled equipment into the backpacks as quickly as he could, finishing off by stashing the hand scanner in the last available space. “Maybe it's all nothing,” he muttered, zipping up the bags. “Simmons is probably fine. S.H.I.E.L.D. has plenty of ops running all the time so they were probably just there for another mission. And she's smart. I'm sure she can think her way out of whatever is happening.”

His pep talk engaged his mind so completely that he hadn't noticed that his feet had taken him to the stairs until banged his foot against the first step. He muffled a yelp of pain, lest Coulson come running with gun drawn, and shook his foot out. “Great bloody engineer you are,” he muttered. “Can't even see the stairs right in front of your face.”

Skye, Coulson, and Ward looked up at him as he entered the lounge, apparently having heard the tail end of his muttering. Coulson opened his mouth to speak but Skye beat him to it. “What did you mean about the Hub?” she blurted out.

“Shall we move this to the command center?” Coulson asked, standing up. Though his words were calm his unusual fidgeting betrayed his sense of alarm.

Fitz jumped in front of the other agents and held up one hand for them to stop. He fumbled in the side pocket of one backpack and pulled out what looked like an old television antenna. Seeing Skye about to ask what he was doing, he looked pointedly at Ward, who nodded in understanding. He put one hand on Skye to stop her, and held the other up to his lips while Fitz swept the rod throughout the room. When it didn't beep anywhere, he put it back in the backpack. “Room's clean,” he told them. “Kind of surprised actually. Given how many agents have been through here, what with meetings and resupplying and all else. You'd—”

“Good call Leo,” Coulson said, cutting Fitz off.

Leo. Coulson must really be rattled. He never called Fitz Leo. Fitz was half convinced that he didn't even know his first name. “Skye,” Fitz called, nodding at the table and the wall. “Can you figure out if someone's watching those too?” Fitz had picked up a few hacking and monitoring skills at the Academy, but his expertise tended towards physical bugging devices, not virtual ones.

“Sure,” she replied, making her way over to the table and running her fingers over it in a pattern that even Fitz found hard to follow.

“So...I take it the Clairvoyant is still active then?” Fitz asked. He cringed as soon as the words had left his mouth. Making casual conversation while Skye was working probably shouldn't include the Clairvoyant, though they'd be discussing the subject soon enough.

“Yep,” Ward replied, smiling like he'd just sucked on a lemon. “So it would seem.”

“Well we'll get him for sure this time,” Fitz said cheerily. “Or her.” He shivered, remembering Lorelei. “There are some pretty insidious lady villains.”

May approached the group, walking this time albeit with the same urgency as her swift departure. She slowed down as she crossed the threshold, stopping right next to Coulson and looking him straight in the eye. “We're clear?” she mouthed, tilting her head toward the table.

“If by that you mean no bugs in the room,” Skye stated, not completely concealing the edge in her voice, “Then yes. Fitz checked. And the table's as free as I can tell, though I can't say for sure without checking the transmitters.”

“I understand,” May said, dipping her head slightly. Her personal pride and firmness in her convictions meant that that was as close to an apology as they were likely to get for now. Once the Clairvoyant was settled they could deal with the rest.

“The Hub, Fitz,” Coulson barked, all business now that security was as tight as it was going to get.

“Right, sir,” Fitz said, echoing Coulson's tone. He paused briefly, considering just how much of the truth to tell, but decided that a quick brief on the facts was all that was needed. “I set up a secure line with the Hub to reach Simmons. With the way things have been going lately I figured it wouldn't hurt to have an extra connection. We spoke very briefly before it started to break up, but the last words she said implied that a whole host of people had just marched into the situation room.” He shook his head, trying not to think about the possibilities. “To be honest sir, it didn't sound good. She didn't sound terrified, but she was worried. She was trying to cover it up, but I know her sir, she was worried.” He knew that he was overdoing it with the sirs, but clinging to the formality helped keep him going. “It was a secret comm line, sure,” he continued, “But if she felt that she had to cover up her true words or feelings around people she should be able to trust? Something's hinky there, sir. And I don't like it.”

“Can we call out from here?” Coulson asked.

“Sir,” Fitz protested, hesitant as he flexed his authority again. “I don't think that would be wise. Even if we could, who's to say that there will be a friendly on the other line? And as good as Skye is, who's to say they haven't got a tap on the outside of the plane?”

“You may be more right than you know,” Coulson said with a sigh, tapping an open folder with one hand. “Skye's done some digging on the Clairvoyant, and it turns out that he or she is not a psychic. Worse. Skye suspects that the Clairvoyant is a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

Fitz glanced briefly at Ward and May. “I see,” he mumbled. Coulson had been harsh on May, but far more harsh than Fitz thought that just a secret phone line deserved. A secret phone line and an inside woman though?

“The Clairvoyant has displayed knowledge that only someone with access to our deep files would know,” Skye explained. “The Clairvoyant has had trouble 'reading' Coulson because Director Fury has kept some information to himself.”

“So Fury's safe?” Fitz asked, hoping desperately that he was. Regardless of his personal feelings about the man, hearing that the head of your whole organization might be the villain would be a straw too much.

“It would seem so,” Coulson replied, clearly relieved. He turned to face May and asked, “What did you find?”

“Locked out,” she growled, looking personally insulted that someone had messed with HER plane. “Every damn system. Even the damn music. Manual override's locked too.”

“So if the Clairvoyant's an agent,” Fitz theorized, “And someone higher up if they have file access like that, and they're the ones controlling the plane, then where exactly are they taking us? Can't be the Triskelion, we were almost there.”

“And how are they planning on landing this?” Skye added. “At least I presume they're planning on landing this.”

“Assuming we're talking about an adequate runway or prepared landing area, it can be done automatically,” May told them. “I wouldn't recommend it, but that narrows the Clairvoyant's options down.”

Fitz felt his stomach roil. He knew where they were headed. “It's the Hub,” he said hollowly. “They're taking us to the Hub.”

“Are you sure?” Skye asked, tapping the table. “Damn it, can't get into the map.”

“Every damn system,” May repeated.

“It's the only place that makes sense,” Fitz explained, worriedly running a hand through his hair. “Given what Agent May said about autopilot landings needing a proper runway or landing space and the fact that the Clairvoyant's an agent. Has to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. The Triskelion's out, so that only leaves a few options. If it wasn't for what Jemma said I wouldn't be certain, but...” He trailed off.

“But the Hub?” Skye echoed. “All those people. They could never pull that off.”

“They could,” May stated slowly, working out the possibilities aloud. “They wouldn't kill them, too messy. I agree with Fitz, has to be someone high up. They'd have the clout to subtly send away teams or bring in infiltrators to build up a loyal group without anyone noticing. Could also seal off sections of the Hub to keep lower levels out. No, the Clairvoyant doesn't seem like the mass murdering type.”

Fitz wanted to rage at her for her seeming callous disregard for the innocent lives at stake, for Jemma's life, but he knew that that was just how she operated. Sometimes he felt jealous of her easy compartmentalization, but if it helped them get out of this alive he was thankful for it.

“Are parachutes a viable option?” Coulson asked.

May shook her head. “All doors and hatches are locked. Another system we can't get into.”

“Even if we could, we have no idea where we are,” Ward pointed out, startling Fitz at his sudden participation in the conversation. “We can reasonably assume that we're headed for the Hub, and given how close we were to the Triskelion we could estimate about where we are, but it's likely the ocean. Not an ideal jumping scenario even in the full light of day.”

“So we're in this til the end,” Coulson said.

“And alone,” Skye added, staring gloomily at the screen wall of the command center. It seemed to still be feeding outside information through as usual, though nothing stood out.

Fitz cocked his head as an idea started to form. “Maybe not,” he muttered. He started pacing around the table, urging his brain to work just a tad faster. He planted himself firmly next to Skye and pointed at Coulson. “So you say that Director Fury's safe, and back at the Triskelion?” he asked, double checking just to be sure. A nod of confirmation from Coulson gave him a thrill of hope. He turned to Skye. “And there's no reason to trust that they're not somehow monitoring what we send out?”

“Not 100 percent,” she agreed. “And who's to say that they're not bugging Fury, or someone close to him? If they're that desperate...” She shrugged as she trailed off.

“So calling or e-mailing or texting or whatnot...all out,” Fitz concluded.

“Texting?” Ward repeated, perking up, pulling out his phone. “Couldn't we just call him?”

“Unfortunately not,” Fitz told him. “To put it simply, towers cover a dome of sorts. The farther away from a tower you get, the closer to the ground you have to be to get a signal. If we were right above a tower we could maybe get a signal, but certainly not at this altitude. Even if there were a tower down there somewhere. And S.H.I.E.L.D. sat phones? Who knows who's listening there.”

“So basically you're saying we're screwed,” Skye said.

“Two words,” Fitz stated, ignoring Skye's pessimism. He held up one finger. “Morse.” He held up a second. “Code.” At their blank looks he elaborated. “Nothing too fancy. A simple SOS message with 'bus' and 'hub' maybe? I could make it seem like nothing more than a bit of static.”

May held up a hand. “Fitz,” she cautioned. “As a last resort that wouldn't hurt, but we need a solid plan first.”

A hint of an encouraging smile softened her words, but Fitz realized that she was right. They couldn't go haring off without a plan.

“May,” Coulson asked, steering the conversation back to where it should be. “You know this plane the best. What's your best guess as to how long we've got until we land?”

“Honestly?” May replied, looking towards the window as though hoping some landmark would appear. “1 ½ to 2 hours. 2 ½ tops, but it feels like we're going too fast for that. They've got to start the descent fairly far out given how high up we are.”

“It comes down to two things really,” Ward said, his eyes focused on Coulson as his superior. “The Hub does seem our likely destination, so what is their goal, and what is ours?”  
“Get Jemma and bug out?” Fitz offered with faint hope, knowing that it would be more complicated than that.

“Simmons is a priority, yes,” May allowed, “But the Clairvoyant is still out there and we can't let the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. suffer.”

“So we split into teams,” Ward suggested with an easy shrug. “One team works to get Simmons out and retreats somewhere safe. The other goes after the Clairvoyant.”

“And that brings us to their goal,” Coulson murmured, looking down at the still open file folder.

“Sir?” Ward asked, prompting him to elaborate.

Coulson looked up, smiling as his gaze passed over each of them. “Why me of course,” he explained. “That's what the Clairvoyant has always been after. The one thing they couldn't get from my file. The one reason why this plane's still flying.”

Ward and May's heads snapped back to look at each other, their well-trained minds on the same wavelength. “Collateral damage,” Ward said.

“The hell we will be,” May replied, her eyes narrowing in equal parts determination and anger.

“Ward's got the right idea,” Coulson said. “Two teams. You're not going to like it, but those two teams are going to be a little lopsided.”

“Phil,” May pleaded, knowing where this was headed.

Coulson shook his head. “It has to be that way,” he declared. “In some twisted way I'm the only one who's safe. If they're meeting the plane when it lands, and we have to presume that they will be, they won't care who they have to cut down to get to me. One way or another, when they come on here, you all can't be.”

Fitz tapped the table as he thought. “I could try and overload the system for one particular door,” he suggested. “I could do it to the whole plane, but they'd surely notice it. If I direct a charge right into the panel it should fry the controls enough to open it manually. I don't know where that would get us, but it's a thought.” He scuffed one shoe on the floor in frustration that he couldn't me more helpful. Fat lot of good his degrees were now.

“I'm inclined to agree with Ward though,” Skye said, worrying her lip with her teeth. “Even if parachuting out was possible, we'd land way too far away to help anyone at the Hub. Coulson, Simmons, anyone.”

“If leaving the plane is out,” Ward started.

“Then we have to make them think we've left,” Skye finished. “Sneaky. And then what? Lie in wait and just let them take him?”

“They're not going to get rid of me right away,” Coulson pointed out. “We've got a lot to talk about.”

Torture. It was kind of Coulson to try and make the reality of their situation a bit less daunting, but not necessary. They were all agents. They all knew what was likely to happen, though if talking about it like that made Coulson feel more hopeful then Fitz couldn't blame the guy. Coulson was given a lot of latitude, both by S.H.I.E.L.D. as an organization and by his teammates, precisely because no one else could possibly fathom what he had gone through. Fitz knew that he didn't even know the whole story and he was still amazed that Coulson could even get out of bed in the morning. He managed to drag his attention back to Coulson's words when he heard his name.

“If Fitz can get through to Fury before we land,” Coulson continued, “He can at least get help on the way. We'll have to trust that it's friendly help.” He turned to May and Ward, unable to conceal a frustrated sigh before he spoke again. “I will trust the infiltration part to your capable hands. The less I know the better.” He nodded over to Fitz. “I'd suggest using some of his gadgets though, least I can do for making him drag them up here.”

“I understand sir,” Fitz said, his tone muted with worry. “It was a good idea. Better to have them and not need them than to need them and not have them. After all, we did need the sweeper.”

Coulson headed for the door. “I'll leave you to it then,” he said, shooting a smile over one shoulder as he left. “I've got a few things to take care of anyhow.”

The command center was silent for a few long minutes. “Do I want to think about what 'things' he's talking about?” Skye muttered, breaking the silence as startlingly as if she had shouted.

“Probably not,” Ward advised. “But we've got plenty else to concern ourselves with.”

Fitz forced himself to concentrate on the mission and not on the fact that Coulson was likely putting his affairs into order, such as he could. He soon found himself swept away by the frantic pace of their planning, his brain too occupied with the Bus, the Hub, and Jemma to think of much else.

********

Fitz raced around the plane, checking that each element was ready to go. They were operating on May's best guess as to when they'd start their descent, but it could happen at any moment. Message sent to Fury, check. Improvised heat shielding, check. ICERs, check. Four parachutes hidden out of sight, check. Necessary infiltration gear, check. He took a deep breath and nodded at Coulson. “You can override the door at any time,” he informed him, tossing a small black box in one hand and passing it off to Coulson. “I'd suggest waiting until we're fairly close to the ground. It'll blow the connection on the port side door by the cockpit and it shouldn't depressurize anything, but better safe than sorry.” He shrugged and added, “Of course if safety was an actual concern we'd never jump out of that door lest we get sucked into an engine.” A slight wobble in his stomach was all Fitz needed to know that it was beginning.

“Places,” Coulson barked.

No one bothered to comment on his uncharacteristic terseness. He had the most to lose in this half-cocked plan, but no one was feeling particularly cheerful as the plane began its slow descent. May caught Fitz on his way to his spot. She held out one of the two sidearms she had strapped to her hips. “Last chance,” she said.

“I think I'm good with just the ICER,” Fitz replied, glancing at the floor in shame. He had no objection to traditional guns, he just didn't think he was ready for bullets. An extremely dangerous situation didn't seem like a proper first time to play at being a field agent, though he'd certainly seen his fair share of field experience. One hand reached toward the knife and holster that May had insisted he take earlier.

“Hey,” she snapped, pulling his face up. “You're a damn good agent, and every bit as important as anyone else here, got it? We're not breaking in there without you, so whatever makes you comfortable, own it.” She clapped him on the shoulder and offered a wry smile. “Besides, I wouldn't want to see Simmons' reaction if we let anything happen to you.”

Fitz smiled, remembering one particular incident at the Academy. “She does have a mean right hook,” he recalled. They separated, Fitz heading into the lab and May back out into the bay. His earlier gathering of resources, however premature it had been, had at least served to clear out a closet. As he secreted himself away in the closet, glad that he wasn't stuck in the boot of the S.H.I.E.L.D. car like May and Ward, he shook his head as he considered the oddity of May giving a pep talk like that. He could see it from Coulson, from Skye, maybe even from Ward in the right situation. The more he thought about it though, the less odd it seemed. As he'd noted earlier, she was just as human as anyone else, and with her history and training she had to be keenly aware of what the mission needed. Another drop in altitude jolted him out of his train of thought. He was certainly a seasoned airplane traveler by now, but whoever was piloting this plane was not given to finesse.

He mentally ran over each element of the plan, tentative though it was. A great deal of it rested on the premise that the Clairvoyant wouldn't have too many agents at their disposal, or wouldn't be able to reveal too many of their agents too soon. As accomplished as Ward and May were, there was only so much that they could do against a few dozen adversaries. Fitz had offered to rig up some small explosions and traps, but there was too little time and too many variables to ensure that those traps wouldn't harm them as well. Fitz had placed a small listening device in the cargo bay, linked up with a small earpiece in his pocket, just in case he couldn't hear the commotion from behind the lab doors and the closet. He had argued that they should leave the doors open, not only to try and conceal the potentially team fracturing evidence of May's attack, but also so that he could better hear the situation out in the cargo bay. It wouldn't do to pop out too soon, nor too late.

Late. He could only hope that they weren't too late for Jemma. It killed him to be just standing in a closet doing nothing when perhaps hundreds of people were being held hostage in the Hub. His rational mind knew that there was little else he could do, that hopefully Director Fury had gotten the message, but just this once he yearned to be irrational. To scream, to hit somebody, to cry that this just wasn't fair. All his training, everything he had read, all the movies and TV shows he had watched, nothing had adequately portrayed the mix of eerie calm and rage that he was feeling as they flew towards the Hub. Did he wish he could be anywhere else? Yes. Would he leave his team alone to face what was coming? Hell no. After Coulson had left, Ward had offered Fitz and Skye the opportunity to parachute out with an emergency locator beacon, but both of them had refused before he'd finished his sentence. Skye had almost attacked Ward for the mere suggestion that she might accept.

The sound of gears working echoed through the otherwise silent plane and Fitz took one last calming breath. Wheels were going down, they were about to land. He drew the earpiece out of his pocket and put it into his ear, ready to be turned on with a flick at a moment's notice. The bump of the plane hitting the ground and its slow roll to a stop was quickly followed by the screeching sound of the metal cargo bay door opening. Booted feet stormed up the ramp, but stopped suddenly, the clatter fading away as a woman's voice spoke.

“Halt!” the voice called.

Hand? Was that Agent Hand? Was she the Clairvoyant? Fitz had a hard time reconciling the voice of someone who had been at least nominally in charge of the mission in South Ossetia with Skye's shooting, not to mention all else that had been done in the Clairvoyant's name. He was wary of jumping to conclusions about the Clairvoyant's identity though, so perhaps she was just another front.

“...Coulson...see...know...” Hand's words drifted back to Fitz in pieces. He flicked the power button on the earpiece, and the conversation came in loud and clear.

“I didn't give them a choice,” Coulson stated, sounding far more imperious than he ever did with his team. “Forgive me for sounding so self-centered, but it's all about it. It's always been about me. They were dead weight so I had Agent Fitz blow the door and they jumped.”

“Harper, scan the plane for heat signatures,” Hand commanded.

Fitz heard nothing for a long, tense moment. His improvised infrared blockers _should_ work, but he'd never tested them.

“Nothing ma'am,” Harper replied at last. “Well nothing beside residual heat from the engines and the like.”

Fitz had to bite his lip to not cheer in relief, but that relief didn't last.

“Let me see,” Hand called. Two boots clanked on the floor and the cargo bay fell silent again. “It seems you're telling the truth after all,” she said. “Very well. I'll send a team out to pick them up. They can't have gotten far.”

“You idiot,” another voice sneered once Hand was done. It sounded somewhat familiar, but Fitz couldn't quite put a face to the voice. Male, definitely. Agent Detwiler perhaps? Agent Williams? “You practically threw your team off this plane and didn't go with them?” he asked in disbelief.

“It's about time the Clairvoyant and I had a little chat,” Coulson said. “We've got a lot to talk about.”

“We're wasting our time here,” Hand complained. “Cuff him and bring him with us.” Boots moved to comply. “You ten, stay here and guard the plane until I tell you otherwise. No one's scheduled to land today, but we may need to sweep the plane later.”

“Be careful,” Fitz heard Coulson say. “She's worth more than all of you put together.”

Fitz listened to the sound of boots retreating, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans in nervous anticipation of what was to come. May had set up an emergency signal, but otherwise left it up to him as to when or if he wanted to come out. As much as he wanted to charge in, he knew that no one would be well served by his presence in the heat of battle.

“Why is Agent Coulson so obsessed with this car?” one of the guards asked once the sound of boots had faded.

“Dunno,” Harper replied. “Battle of New York though...that would mess with anyone's head.”

The first guard snorted. “You wouldn't believe some of the rumors I've heard,” he said. “Apparently he was—”

The sound of something rolling on the floor cut him off.  
“What was th—”

Two sharp bangs stopped him again, and the cargo bay was flooded with curses.

“Jesus Christ!”

“The fuck?!? Can't see a damn thing.”

Fitz tore out the earpiece, resisting the urge to pump his fist in the air in jubilation. From the sound of it Skye had thrown the flash-bang grenades right on target. Good thing as he'd only had the two at hand to give her. Even without the earpiece he heard the staccato sound of shots ring out, some hollower sounding than others. It seemed that one of them was occasionally using an ICER. They had been split over whether to use lethal force or not, not knowing how many people were being directly controlled and who could be held responsible for their actions. A scream and something heavy thudded to the floor. That had not been an ICER hit. Fitz got lost in the haze of indeterminate shouting and the thumps of hand-to-hand combat for a few minutes before being called back into focus by what sounded like Skye screaming in pain. Fuck it. Code word or not, he wasn't about to hide in a closet and listen to his friends suffer anymore.

Fitz carefully drew his ICER and pushed the closet door open. He crawled behind the table and peered through the lab doors. He couldn't see the whole bay, but it looked like there were five bodies down. It was impossible from that angle to see who they were. Upon realizing that no one was bothering to spare a glance towards the lab, he stood up and softly crept over to the doors. From that vantage point he could see that May and Ward were still fighting in the bay, though Ward was knocking his opponent down the ramp with heavy blows to his shoulders. Skye was attempting to fight off one attacker with her left arm as another tried to staunch the flow of blood from her right arm by pressing it against Lola. “It's now or never Leopold,” Fitz muttered, aiming carefully for Skye's adversary with his ICER. He kicked the button to open the door, and fired three quick shots. Two missed, but one hit the man in his exposed neck, dropping him to the floor.

“Thanks,” Skye mouthed. Fitz tossed her a spare clean rag from the lab which she pressed against her arm. She retreated back against the wall of the plane, effectively useless until she could stop the bleeding.

Fitz walked further into the bay, noting that there were only four guards left. Ward was handling the two at the end of the ramp so he turned to May. One agent had her in a chokehold from behind, shielding most of her from Fitz's view, while his comrade punched her. Somehow along the way all three had lost their weapons or run out of ammunition, but Fitz saw May's hand inch through the pain towards where he knew she had stashed a knife. In a flash she whipped it out and sliced her opponent from bicep to armpit. The man dropped to the ground, screaming in pain as two arteries were severed.

“Fucking bitch!” the man still holding May cried, tightening his hold.

Out of the corner of his eye Fitz saw a fire extinguisher, and without considering his options, picked it up and raced over to May. As he approached he saw that her face was losing color. Not knowing how else to get the man to quickly release May, Fitz tapped his shoulder. In his surprise he released his hold on May and turned around to face Fitz. Fitz took advantage of his shock and hauled the extinguisher upwards, smashing the canister into the man's face. He dropped to the floor at May's feet.

“Nice uppercut,” May said, her voice hoarse from being choked off. She looked directly into Fitz's eyes. “Thank you. Truly. I owe you one.”

Fitz smiled, the terror of the situation abated by the relief of seeing that she was alright. “I'm just glad that our little trick worked,” he admitted. “I thought for sure they'd catch us.”

May shrugged. “People who think that they've won will do anything to believe it,” she said. She took a long look at the man at her feet before bending down and punching him in the face. “Just to make sure that he'll be down for a while,” she told Fitz. She turned her head to catch Ward as walked up the ramp, breathing heavily but otherwise seeming no worse for the wear.

“Where's Skye?” he asked, looking around the cargo bay.

“Shit!” Fitz exclaimed, having lost track of what was going on with her in his haste to help May.

“S'okay,” Skye mumbled, walking up to the group still pressing on her arm with the rag. “Looks worse than it is.”

Ward's eyes widened in alarm and he reached out to check her arm. “Skye,” he warned. “I know you're officially an agent now, but don't think that you have to hide your injury to prove it. After all, I'm still your SO. Not to mention your friend.”

“No, really,” Skye protested, waving him off with a shake of her head. “It's mostly shock. Like surprise shock, not medical shock. If Fitz can rustle up some gauze from Simmons's med kit I'll be good to go.” She looked back at Lola ,whose gleaming red body paint was stained with a streak of blood. “Hope AC doesn't kill me for ruining his baby after he warned those goons to be careful,” she joked, smiling at her attempt to inject some levity into the conversation.

“Oh, that comment wasn't about the car,” May said, unable to stop a knowing smile from lightening her face. “Do you really think that when it comes down to it that it's his car that he's really worried about? No, that message was for us. Coulson may have handpicked us with good reason and good intentions, but we're not just well-trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to him.”

“Sort of Dumbledore-esque,” Fitz mused, looking down to hide his blush at Coulson's implied regard for the team. “A 'I shall never truly be gone unless none here are loyal to me' sort of thing. Minus the phoenix and the sword. We could have used that. Still could.”

“Sure,” Ward said, sounding anything but. “We need to fix Skye up, but we really can't waste any more time. Who knows when they're going to radio back to these guys.”

“I can do that,” Fitz told him. “I may not have Simmons's deft touch but I can do a decent enough job.”

May nodded her assent. “Fair enough,” she said, taking charge. “While he's doing that, Ward make sure we're stocked up on ammo. Regular and ICERs. I'm going to go around and make sure that all these guys will be out for the next several hours at least.”

Fitz took Skye back into the lab and bound up her arm just as Simmons had showed him. “Most of the bleeding has stopped,” he informed her, “So this should do just fine. I'd make sure that someone more qualified checks it later though.”

“You're plenty qualified,” Skye said, hopping down off the stool. “And not a bad shot.”

“Well,” he replied with a humble smile, “I do try.”

Fitz and Skye met Ward and May back out in the cargo bay just as May was re-holstering her weapons. “Ready?” she asked.

Skye nodded, her face firm with determination. “For Coulson,” she offered.

May tilted her head to one side, considering it. “For us,” she stated. “For you. For all those agents who are stuck in this twisted game. But yes, for Coulson.”

 


End file.
